I caught myself writing a poem today
What do I do? What do I do?
completely out of the blue
What is that? Is that you?
I wrote it down with paper and pen
What do I do? How can this be?
and hid it in my shoe.
My heart has got the best of me.
time does not stop.
it continues past love, past pain, past experience.
a constant reminder of our own mortality with the thumping of our hearts.
you would think that time would have the decency to stop during the most dire situations,
and let us pay some semblance of respect.
let us mourn our loss
let us capture the moment and savor it, taste the reality of the moment, roll it on our tongues and say, ” I understand.”
but time does not stop.
it’s a constant reminder between moon phases
when the leaves turn and the first snow starts to fall.
time is constant,
the one variable that remains the same in this experiment.
even after death time continues.
the body decomposes while time moves on.
And you lay there
our enemy is time.
(old poem from 2006)
I’m the girl who’s always late,
waiting at the bus stop
with everything I own strapped to my back.
And sometimes it rains.
I burn my fingers when I cook.
My yellow rice comes out orange and I put ketchup on everything.
Sometimes I pay my bills late.
Often I press ignore when my father calls,
and I always hope its someone else calling,
not you, Dad, because you didn’t love me when you should’ve.
I want someone who can.
I cry when I read sad stories
and laugh to myself when I think no one is watching.
Sometimes I foget myself and talk too much about sex.
I never say the right thing or laugh at the right time.
I don’t have the answer and I over react.
But once in a while I get it right.